Spandex
by Capsule Cray
Summary: Things get 'tense' at Capsule Corp. during those infamous three years. One-shot B/V


Disclaimer: Don't own DBZ or these two crazy kids.

R&amp;R if you please!

Spandex

Vegeta did to kitchens what powerful hurricanes do to everything: complete destruction. He tore through the refrigerator, tossing anything that resembled a protein into the "eat" pile, and anything else into the trash can. Plates were unnecessary. Cutlery? As if.

Bulma watched the alien complete his breakfast ritual, too sleepy to yell at him for throwing away her salad. Besides, if she addressed him, she would have to suffer his obnoxious, arrogant rantings. If she let him be, she could continue to marvel at his unexpectedly nice ass, covered only by his spandex shorts.

"What do you want?" the Saiyan Prince interrupted the scientist's musings, sensing her ki, which in his experience, was usually accompanied by insufferably shrill chatter.

Bulma blushed, snapping out of her trance. "Just came for breakfast. I'll wait. If there's any left," she replied smoothly, leaning against the door frame. What was with her? Did she really just spend a good two minutes of her life staring at Vegeta's—A.K.A Genocidal Crazy Murder Alien's behind? Weird.

"There won't be. The food supply today is unsatisfactory," Vegeta reported, closing the refrigerator door with his foot, his "eat" pile cradled like a child in his arms.

"Big surprise." Bulma rolled her eyes and went to the coffee pot, glad the Saiyan had not yet discovered the joys of java; otherwise, she was sure, there would never be any of that in the house, either.

Vegeta frowned (more so than he already was). Usually, the woman would yell at him, throw things at him, or sometimes, if it was a really good day, try and slap him. She was doing none of these things, and it displeased him. "What's wrong with you?" he queried, raising an eyebrow.

Bulma shrugged. "Nothing, actually" she answered, turning her coffee pot on. "Why? Wait, let me rephrase: why do you care?"

"I do not care," Vegeta flatly assured her, and promptly left, taking his "eat" pile to the gravity room and shutting the door.

The blue-haired genius sighed as she watched the Saiyan Prince lock himself in his castle through the kitchen window. "What is wrong with me?" she wondered aloud, tearing her eyes from the gravity room and rummaging around the cupboard for a mug.

Truthfully, Bulma had just awoken from a dream that morning which left her feeling very odd. She was no stranger to dreams of handsome gentlemen; Yamcha sometimes made an appearance, but more often than not, it was the men from her fashion magazines and daytime television. This past night, however, it was different. The star of her dream was none other than the Prince of All Saiyans himself.

Now, if anyone would have suggested that Vegeta was attractive before this day, Bulma would have laughed at them. Cute, in a rabid dog kind of way, maybe. But after her steamy dream, it was suddenly very clear to Bulma just how attractive he was. His body was perfect, for starters. Tan and _beyond_ toned, he was basically a god. His hair was nice too, very thick and just screaming to be played with; she'd always had a thing for dark hair. There was even something slightly seductive about his scowl, and the tension he held in his jaw. She felt a flutter in the pit of her stomach, and again shook herself from her thoughts. "Ugh, gross, too bad about his personality and _everything else_ about him," she reminded herself.

Well, maybe not _everything. _After all, he was very smart, almost as smart as her, and that was something to be admired for sure. He was dedicated; she had never seen anyone work as hard for anything as he worked, day in and day out, in the gravity room. Not to mention, next to Goku, he was probably the most powerful man on Earth—hell, in the universe! That was, undeniably, very sexy. She smirked, despite herself. He could definitely kick Yamcha's ass, that cheating, lying, son-of-a…

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a loud explosion. "Not again," Bulma grumbled, standing up and heading for the door. The first time Vegeta had blown up the gravity room, he'd been in the infirmary for a week. The most recent time, he had just been pissed, and pestered her incessantly until it had been fixed, which took an entire week. Either scenario did not bring her comfort, and would definitely ruin a week of her life.

As she bolted around the corner of the hall, she ran smack into a dirty, bloody Vegeta. The force of their collision knocked her backwards, but the unfazed Saiyan held her up, firmly. "Oh, Vegeta," Bulma stuttered, her imaginings of his spandexed rear-end still fresh in her mind. "Are you ok?"

"Fine," he replied, giving her a quizzical look. "Where are you off to in such a hurry, woman?"

"To see—I thought the gravity room—just wanted to make sure you didn't ruin it!" Bulma managed, noting that his hands still gripped her arms. He seemed to notice this at the same time as she, for he released her and put a hand to his wounded side.

"That looks bad—need any help?" Bulma asked, eyeing the warrior's multiple wounds (and perfect six-pack).

"I require nothing," Vegeta assured her, "Except that you fix my gravity room."

At this, Bulma narrowed her eyes. "_Your_ gravity room? Listen here, homeboy, that is _my_ gravity room. And that is _my_ food you helped yourself to this morning! And this is _my_ house! So I will fix it when I darn well please! Now quit bleeding all over _my_ carpet and get your butt to the infirmary!"

"I do not take orders from you!" Vegeta growled, pushing past her. However, once he was sure she could no longer see his face, he smirked. That was how he best liked the fiery Earth woman: red-faced and challenging him. He noted, with some concern, this was the second time today he entertained thoughts of those flushed cheeks and pouting lips. He grimaced and shook his head.

Bulma watched Vegeta leave, eyes lingering on that perfect ass. Boy, she was in trouble, and she knew it.


End file.
